


Enlightenment

by Zhie



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Childhood Friends, Education, Elves, F/M, Libraries, Teenager Elves, Valinor, childhood crushes, sarati
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Tales from Valinor, at a time of peace, learning, and enlightenment.  Fëanáro and his friends go on a series of adventures through the course of a day.
Relationships: Finwë/Indis (Tolkien)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 7
Collections: SilmGood - Feel Good stories for the Silmarillion, Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020





	1. Valinor: 1187 YT

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalendeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalendeer/gifts).



> Written for TRSB 2020  
> Art by Kalendeer
> 
> Requested information:  
> Additional details/requests: We often see Child!Fëanor as this sad, lonely kid in his huge, empty palace. But what if he had, in fact, his own little gang of friends? Who were they? Did they team up to ensure the adults caring for them will go nut? Do they team up against Indis' kids? I would love to bounce ideas about who the three little OCs will be! The characters may be kids or young teenagers.  
> All names should be in Quenya.  
> Bonus love from myself if the Noldor are East Asian inspired, ranging from vaguely Asian vibes to "I am an absolute NERD about medieval Japan/Korea/China and want everyone to know it". However, if you feel like you want to write them as European and have loaaaaaaaaaads of happy headcanons to unleash, go for it!  
> DNW: Sad fics, character hate against Indis (Fëanor is of course allowed to dislike her, but the author can still be kind to her), Finwë as a bad father, malevolent Valar.
> 
> This was really great, because I got to do a lot of research (which we know I love, darlings) and I chose to focus on the Edo Period and try to incorporate some of those ideas, yet still make it Valinor. It was also a great excuse to have Elves eat sushi. Fingers crossed that it worked...
> 
> -Zhie

Valinor arguably had the best educational system during the Years of the Trees. One might say that they were not technologically or scientifically advanced, or that there were still beliefs held that did not resonate with later discoveries. The fact of the matter was, that nowhere else, at no other time, was such a high percentage of the population literate. 

Everyone knew how to read. Rúmil was the most famous person in all the world known to those of Valinor, and his Sarati rivaled the brilliance of the jewels Aulë taught the Noldor to craft and the silver and gold he showed them how to forge. It was hard to say whether a finely crafted gem or a perfectly penned letter were of greater value in those years. Therefore, it was of equal importance to craft a sparkling diamond from rough stone as it was to master the written alphabet. 

Gems, however, served as the closest thing to currency, and were employed often in trade. For the many scholars and philosophers in Valinor, it was not unlikely that they would receive a basket of produce or a bolt of lovely cloth for their troubles in teaching the youth of the lands, but to receive such priceless jewels was an honor for them indeed. 

It was the reason that Fëanáro now stood at the bottom of the winding staircase of the palace in Tirion holding a small cloth pouch open as Indis counted out more than a dozen small, shining green and red stones and deposited them into his keeping. “We have a dinner tonight with several of your father’s counselors,” she reminded Fëanáro as she retrieved his travel kit. She fussed with his kimono, which was slightly askew compared to the clothing of his companions, who stood quietly in a row by the door. She retrieved another kit, which she handed to Hanacórë, the only other boy, and said, “Please try to get him home before suppertime.”

Hanacórë bowed as he held the kit with both hands. “It is my honor to serve you, my lady. I will see him home on time.”

Fëanáro rolled his eyes out of sight of Indis. “I do not understand my attendance for such an event, neunamil. No one pays any attention to me, and even if I have thoughts on the conversation, atar would not wish me to voice them.”

Indis came back to the stairway and made one more adjustment to Fëanáro’s clothing before she gave him a kiss upon the top of his head. “It is his desire for you to attend. Is that not enough, that it is your father’s wish? You are his joy, Fëanáro. He is proud to have you dine at his side, in the presence of his trusted court.”

Fëanáro bowed his head. “Of course. I shall return on time, as you ask.”

With a smile and one more look of scrutiny at Fëanáro’s outfit, Indis nodded to the servant standing beside the door, silently waiting direction. He opened the door and waited for the children to leave before closing it again. Once outside, all of the children clustered around Fëanáro as he opened the satchel and they peered inside to look at the treasure they had been given. “My amil gave me some sapphires, too,” Ilfirindil said as she opened a small pouch she had tucked into a fold of her obi. “We probably have enough for the whole week if we are wise enough with them!” 

Hanacórë, still clutching his kit, bit his lip. “We need to be careful not to lose them.”

Ilfirindil nodded in agreement and tied the satchel tight before tucking it away again. “We did agree that it was Erulírë’s turn to choose first today. Where should we go first, Erulírë?”

The youngest, Erulírë was Ilfirinidil’s little sister. She took after their mother, with sandy brown hair that bordered on having just the slightest hint of blonde. There was alway a ruddiness to her cheeks, which Indis had once proclaimed was the sign of a joyful child. Indeed, she was rarely caught without a smile on her face and laughter in her heart, and was easily distracted by the wares in the market, from brightly patterned cloth to shiny candlesticks and speckled blown-glass bowls. 

Hanacórë was anything but. His nature was serious and solemn. As the son of a servant of Finwë’s household, some would expect that he would spend his days training and preparing to do the same with his life. Indis had decreed this not to be so, for she had decided earlier on in her arrival that what Fëanáro needed, in the absence of his birth mother, was not only a second mother, but a companion in his life. Thus, Hanacórë was appointed to be Fëanáro’s friend. Fëanáro considered holding a grudge against the boy, but after three days of refusing to speak to him, it was Ilfirindil (for Erulírë was not yet old enough to walk to the palace with her sister) who convinced Fëanáro that he should see this change in circumstances as a blessing for them both. Fëanáro could have a constant friend inside the house, for Ilfirindil obviously could not live in the household with him. On the other hand, Hanacórë stood a better chance of elevating himself into a more prominent position if he had the favor of Fëanáro and opportunities he would not have otherwise.

Ilfirindil was the practical one. She took after her father, being tall with dark hair, and a sparkle of mischief in her eyes. If a decision needed to be made and no one could come to a consensus, she would use reason and critical thinking to figure it out. She had a keen memory, and was already showing promise as a musician. She was slightly older than Fëanáro, and had begun to engage in behaviors of adults, such as adorning her hair and wearing jewelry. Sometimes, Fëanáro would affectionately call her neldëamil when she presented herself to strangers as the voice of reason for the group. Other times, she was the chief troublemaker of the group--though it was sometimes her giggles that would give the group away.

When an answer was not forthcoming, Ilfirindil nudged her sister. “Well? You had three whole days to think it over.”

“I know, but there are so many good places to go!” Erulírë looked to Fëanáro. “Where do you want to go?”

“Hmm…” Fëanáro wandered from the door and down the double set of stairs so that they were at least on the path to elsewhere. In Valinor, education was self-regulated. If one wanted to learn how to play harp, they would find the home of a harper whose door was open and join other students who were assembled there to listen to the instructions of the master. If they wanted to know how to turn clay into bowls or mugs, they would find a potter whose gate was open, and join them at their wheel or kiln. Only two things were required: An open mind, ready to learn, and the willingness to assist in small tasks the master needed help with. Sometimes, these were related to the craft or skill, and sometimes, it could be as simple as fetching water from the well or cooking a meal. For those who were established enough to offer additional goods or even gems, these were appreciated as tokens of honor to the masters. Few would ask Fëanáro and his friends to do menial labor in exchange for lessons, and so, the gems were most appropriate for payment. “Maybe Rúmil. Or maybe not Rúmil?” he added quickly when Ilfirindil pulled a face.

“Rúmil is hard,” opined Ilfirindil. “Good, but hard.” She had her own kit of supplies and some for her sister, as well as her flute, in a pack over her shoulder, which she adjusted. “This is heavy, though, so we should decide or sit down for a while until we do decide.”

“We could go see Mahtan,” suggested Fëanáro.

“Not to deny you your desire, Fëanáro, but whenever we go to Mahtan’s forges, we return in need of refreshing. You do have your father’s event this evening, and a visit to Mahtan would require returning home even sooner to make yourself presentable,” Hanacórë advised.

“I am going to sit under that tree,” Ilfirindil said, already marching purposely in the direction of a large oak. “Do alert me when we are ready to leave.”

The remaining trio discussed potential stops while Ilfirindil removed a pad of paper from the pack and started to sketch. Ilfirindil was immersed in her work when Fëanáro approached and tapped at the bottom of her foot with his toes. “We have a plan.”

“Go on then. I shall hear it and make judgement,” she said as she continued to draw.

Fëanáro frowned but said, “First, we shall make our way to the House of Rúmil. It is early, and he likely has many students. He cannot be so harsh in critiquing everyone at the same time, but his instruction is the best for Sarati. Next, we will go to your house for tea and see if your uncle is amiable for discussions of a botanical nature. After that, we will seek out someone at the  
Istanómë Ingolë, for your sister very much wants to concentrate on science this morning. Following lunch, we will spend time reflecting at the market, and end the day with a visit to the court gallery.”

The court gallery was a balcony surrounding the court of Finwë, and was open to anyone who wished to listen to the discussions held in Finwë’s throne room. “I find this acceptable,” Ilfirindil said as she tucked away her drawings and readied herself for the walk. “It makes sense, too, so that we can get you back in time for your engagement later today.”

“Yes, neldëamil,” said Fëanáro obediently as they walked back to rejoin their group. 

The House of Rúmil was indeed quite full by the time the quartet arrived. It was so full, in fact, that Fëanáro and Erulírë had to sit on a window seat on the east side of the main room while Ilfirindil and Hanacórë found seats on the floor, with someone between them. All of them immediately assembled their supplies and began to copy the texts that Rúmil had painted at an earlier point on huge sheets of fabric which hung on the walls. He and his wife walked through the rows and rows of students, adjusting holds on brushes or pausing to give critical feedback on the specific strokes before moving on to another pupil. 

The room remained quiet, but outside music played. These were not musicians to be consulted for instruction, but staff hired by Rúmil to offer delicate notes from flutes, kotos, and bells as his students practiced. The words ‘Indo - Hröa - Fëa - Olindë’ were etched into the woodwork of the four walls, the large letters in his own writing system looming over all in the room.

Sometimes, Fëanáro would glance over at Erulírë’s pages and whisper his suggestions to her. “Try not to grip your brush as if you are trying to crush grapes into juice,” he said to her when she winced and shook out her hand. “Here. Like this,” he said, showing her so she could emulate his position.

“My wrist does not like Sarati,” she whispered back to him after another line was completed. “It seems so sideways.”

“How so?” asked Fëanáro.

“See, when my hand is on the brush? I can move up and down easy, but back and forth is harder.”

“And it all looks like leaves and flowers,” said another student sitting on the bench with them. She drew a few of the characters together, and indeed, they looked like floral arrangements on their sides. “I wish someone would make something easier. I never know if someone is writing from left to right and back again, boustrophedon, or top to bottom. You would think he would have made that plain to decide on just one,” she continued to grumble.

“I hear speaking when I should hear brushes on parchment!” 

The heads of all three younglings snapped back down to assess their work and continue with the copying of the text. It was too late to escape the notice of Rúmil, who made straight to the trio on the bench. “I am excited to see your work. Please, show me your papers.”

Fëanáro sighed and held out his work immediately while those on either side of him scrambled to present their sheets. His was handed back to him with a brief mention of writing too big, so that his letters became squished at the ends of the lines. Erulírë’s sheet was scrutinized, with Rúmil looking over the page to her and back to it several times before he said, “Your diacritics are not particularly well-aligned, but they are smartly made. Your text is very inconsistent, and your mirrored text does not mirror. Finish copying the examples here, take them home, and rewrite them all six times in practice before you return.” He handed the sheet back and cleared his throat at the third pupil. “All of your sheets, please,” he said when one page was held out to him.

The student shuffled through the sheets again, and then handed them all over in defeat. Rúmil shifted through them until he reached the page with the flowers made of random letters. “These are not even words,” he assessed. “One would think you are not taking this seriously.”

“I take my education very seriously, Master Rúmil,” answered the student back.

A hush fell over the room. When one came to be educated, they were expected to listen, and occasionally ask questions, but never was someone to directly engage the master or dispute them unless this was invited in advance. Even Fëanáro held his breath.

Rúmil stared down at the girl, then bent his head so that only she, and Fëanáro due to his close proximity, heard his dismissive words. “Get out of my house.” He stood up straight again, gave Fëanáro a harsh look that had him scrambling to return to his work again, and, in case the words were not understood, pointed at the open doorway with his free hand.

The girl shoved her supplies into a metal box, closed it, and walked out of the room with her head held high. Within seconds, another student who had been waiting for a seat at the door took her place and immediately got to work copying the texts. Rúmil walked to a fire kept burning for tea and tossed the sheets of paper in with the coals, where they curled as flames licked at them and dissolved them to ashes.

Another hour was spent so that Erulírë could finish copying all of the words. Fëanáro was grateful when she tapped his arm to let him know she was done, and they made a path through the room to silently alert their companions it was time to go. All four gathered outside near a fence that kept them separate from the musicians. “Do you think I need to bring all six copies back to him next time?” asked Erulírë as Fëanáro checked to be sure he had not left anything behind.

“I think that would be wise,” he told her.

“What happened with that girl sitting next to you?” asked Ilfirindil. “Did you hear what Rúmil said to her?”

By now, there were a few others who had been inside who were exiting the house, and curious eyes fell upon the heir to the throne of the Noldor. Fëanáro frowned and shook his head. “No. He talks really quietly.”

“I heard nothing either,” said Erulírë.

“Time for tea!” announced Ilfirindil. 

They started down the path, but Fëanáro began to turn back. “I forgot to leave something,” he called to the others.

“I know,” Ilfirindil called back. “I left enough for all of us.” She held up her pouch of jewels and shook it.

Appeased, Fëanáro caught up with the others again. “Alright, but I take care of it next time.”

“Absolutely. It would be weird for me to make an offering to my uncle,” she giggled.

“I meant the next one after that. He’s your uncle,” said Fëanáro.

“Sure, but he likes shiny things, too,” said Ilfirindil. “Besides, he only gives private lessons, so he has far less opportunity than others.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Fëanáro said after musing on this idea. “I shall give him the prettiest one I have.”

“We still have to see if he is amiable to instructing us after we have tea,” Ilfirindil reminded him.

“Of course.”

“I hope there are rice balls we can take with us. Amil said she was going to make rice balls today, and I hope they are ready when we get there!” Erulírë announced, already far enough removed from the criticism given to her by Rúmil. “How many rice balls would you like, Hanacórë?”

“Just one, please,” he said softly. “If your mother allows for that.”

“Of course she will! She likes all of my friends!” Erulírë looped an arm with Hanacórë and began to skip down the road, which caused him to have to skip in order to keep up with her and not be dragged along.

“That looks fun!” Ilfirindil grinned and looked at Fëanáro.

“No,” he said, blushing a little.

“No, it does not look fun? Or no, you do not want to do it?”

Fëanáro shrugged, and a moment later, Ilfirindil had her arm looped with his. “Ilfirindil, I will look silly!”

“That is the point! Silly fun!” she declared as she started to skip, but unlike her sister, she did not force Fëanáro. She let go of his arm as she skipped in step with his walking. “You know, a lot of creatures can walk and run, but not so many can skip. It seems a waste to know you can and never to do it.”

“Fine,” Fëanáro mumbled as he tucked his kit under one arm and looped his other with Ilfirindil’s. They barely caught up to their companions before reaching the home Ilfirindil and Erulírë lived in. 

It was an impressive estate, though far smaller than the palace where Fëanáro and Hanacórë lived. It was built of smooth white marble and inlaid with silver. The house itself was rather small--it was the grounds that were impressive. As one walked through silver gates, they were greeted on either side by a fountain of white marble, with crystalline water shooting up towards the stars. Lush gardens with perfectly trimmed topiaries mirrored each other in the front. As one moved around to the back of the estate, they would find on one side a well cared for vegetable garden and orchard, and on the other, a place for fitness and meditation. There were stone paths connecting various places to reflect or pray, and other places to practice calisthenic movements while surrounded by stones both natural and carved in beds of sand with intricate patterns drawn in them.

All that was seen on the outside was the work of Ilfirindil and Erulírë’s uncle. He was their mother’s brother, and during the journey, it was said that his wife was sundered from him. Nothing further was ever said on the topic. Sometimes, when adults talked behind doors without the thought that children could hear them, they would say how sad it was, and how strong he was to carry on, and how much he dedicated his time to plants and the growing of things. Never had he seemed sad to any of the children; in fact, they might have said he was the happiest adult they knew. He was not only accustomed to his nieces referring to him as uncle, but answered to any who called him that, and so the other children did the same.

He was outdoors when they arrived, tending to a vine of ripening grapes. “Uncle! We have arrived for tea! Will you join us?” shouted Erulírë as she ran up the path.

“I believe if you wish for tea that I shall need to make it for you as well,” he said. He finished his business and removed his gloves. Despite being out of doors and weeding the garden, he was dressed as if he was ready to receive visitors at a moment’s notice. His unique gold hair was pulled up and piled on his head, which was practical for horticultural work, but it was also adorned with several jeweled combs and gemmed accents. “Your parents are out. Your mother had several dozen rice balls to deliver, and your father decided to go with her, as he had no business for today.”

“We do not want to disturb you,” said Ilfirindil as she and Fëanáro skipped to a stop. 

“Did amil take all of the rice balls?” asked Erulírë while attempting not to pout.

Their uncle chuckled and placed his gloves over a short stretch of fencing that separated portions of the garden. “She left more than enough to fill everyone’s belly. You have arrived at an opportune time. I have been out here since before you left, and if you are already returned, that means I need a break.” He led them all into the house, which was devoid of servants, and began to set about fixing tea for all of them. “How were your lessons today?”

“We have barely started,” said Ilfirindil. “We spent a long while at the House of Rúmil. He gave me a nod of approval as he walked by,” she said, beaming at her uncle.

“He told me I need improvement,” Erulírë said glumly.

“Your sister has seven years on you, Erulírë,” said their uncle as he joined them around the low table. He set a tray of rice balls and a bowl of small citrus fruits in the center, then sat down on the floor at the head of the table, sliding his legs beneath it. “I would suspect that seven years ago, she was being told she needed improvement as well.”

“Seven years? Try seven months,” said Ilfirindil. “Rúmil is very harsh because he understands his writing better than anyone else. He expects perfection.”

“He told me something nice,” said Hanacórë softly. 

“About the work you did?” asked Ilfirindil.

Hanacórë nodded. “He said ‘Excellent, my boy’, and then walked away.”

“That is magnificent,” said the adult, and Hanacórë smiled at the additional compliment. “What of you, Fëanáro?” 

“Um...I have improvements to make,” he said. He squirmed a little, and then said, “I might have told a lie before.”

“Oh?”

“Not here, uncle,” Fëanáro said quickly. “When we were there, Rúmil got upset at someone who was next to me, because she was drawing flowers on her page. I said I did not hear what was said, but I said that because there were so many people around and I did not want everyone talking about her. Rúmil whispered to her, so I do not think he thought I heard, and I do not think he wanted others to know.”

“Mmm. I see.” The adult leaned back a little and rubbed his chin. “It seems more like your lie is a lie of omission than a lie of deceit.”

“There are different lies?” questioned Erulírë.

“Sort of. All lies are untruths, but sometimes, some lies are to protect, or to try to offer some amount of dignity,” explained her uncle. “By not divulging the information, Fëanáro tried to allow the person Rúmil scolded a little more self-respect, and for himself, a little more grace.”

“So it was a good lie,” Erulírë said.

Her uncle tilted his head to the side. “I would say more that it was a good reason to lie.” The kettle began to whistle, and he excused himself to retrieve it.

“So what did he say?” asked Ilfirindil.

Fëanáro hesitated. “I...I do not know if I should tell you.”

Ilfirindil scowled. “I thought we were friends.”

“I am your friend,” Fëanáro said a little louder than intended.

“No shouting in the house,” Erulírë said immediately, mimicking her father.

“Shh, none of that,” came her uncle’s calm tone as he brought a tray with hot water, cups, and a selection of teas. “What need do you have for the information, Ilfirindil?”

“I just want to know,” she said.

As her uncle fixed the tea, he shook his head. “Why? To what end?”

Ilfirindil was unable to answer, but her sister did instead. “I would like to know because she left really fast, and then he burned all of her work, and I know I would be upset if that happened to me. I would probably run away and cry, and if she is somewhere crying and alone, I think we should go find her. She seemed nice. I understood her frustration.”

“Ah.” Her uncle handed a cup to her. “Compassion. Yes. Very good. Hanacórë?”

The boy had lifted his hand up, and placed it down again. “I would like to know if he told her what she could improve on. If it is something I could help her with, I would like to help her.”

“Sharing knowledge. Empathy. These are also good.” The adult held the final cup out to Fëanáro and said to him, “These are conditions you must consider when deciding what to say to your friends, and when deciding what to keep to yourself.”

Fëanáro took the cup and held it between his hands, watching the steam rise from the liquid. “When Rúmil came over, he thought she was not taking his instruction seriously.”

“We all heard that,” interrupted Ilfirindil. 

“I know,” Fëanáro said. “But then, after that, he told her to go away.”

“She was rude to him,” Ilfirindil decided. “She should not be spending the time and the seat doing...well, what was she doing?”

“Drawing flowers out of the letters,” said Fëanáro.

“Why would you even do that?” questioned Ilfirindil.

“It was my fault,” said Erulírë. “I was complaining, and she joined in.”

“Ah. Now I see more of the scene,” said her uncle. “But in this scenario, everyone had choices to make. You chose to complain, and she did also, but when Rúmil came over, only she chose to voice her opinion to him.”

“Hmm. Maybe I should have voiced my opinion, too,” said Erulírë. “Maybe if it was more than one of us, he would not kick us all out.”

“Possibly. Have you considered, and I am just thinking aloud so do not take this as advice,” said her uncle, “but is there anyone else who could teach you how to write Sarati other than Rúmil?”

“I cannot think of anyone,” said Erulírë.

“Neither can I,” Ilfirindil added.

“Really? I can think of someone, and he is in this very room,” said their uncle.

“You?” asked Erulírë excitedly.

“Heavens, no!” he laughed. “My penmanship is atrocious! Ask me to show you how to graft an apple tree to a pear, or how to grow the most raspberries in the shortest time, or how to keep crows out of the garden, and I am at your service. Not writing. No thank you,” he continued. “But someone here has received high praise from Rúmil, and from my experiences, I believe that the best way to be successful at something is to teach others to do it.”

The children all looked at each other and at their teatime mentor and at their tea and then each other again. Finally, Hanacórë asked, “Me?”

“Yes, you, my boy,” said the adult. “You have proven yourself with the test of fire--you went before the master himself, and he declared you worthy. Why not instruct your friends? You will improve your own skills, and they will improve theirs, and perhaps in your future there may even be the promise of a house of learning of your own.”

“I do think I might like that,” Hanacórë said.

“You would be a much nicer teacher than Rúmil,” declared Erulírë. “Cheaper, too!”

“Drink your tea before it gets cold, Erulírë,” warned her uncle. “Where are you off to next?” he asked the others.

“Actually...we hoped we might stay here a little while and have you show us your garden and teach us about plants,” said Ilfirindil.

“I suppose I could do that,” considered her uncle. “On the other hand, now that everyone has a little more knowledge on the situation with the girl you met today, I can assure you that this is most likely the last place someone would run to if they were publicly humiliated in front of their peers. So if those of you with concerns want to make good on them, I would gladly offer to give you instruction another time.”

“Instruction and tea? Perhaps tomorrow?” asked Erulírë, who was now on her second rice ball.

“Instruction, tea, and possibly more rice balls,” offered her uncle.

“We should go find her,” said Fëanáro before anything else could be discussed. He picked up his cup and finished off the rest of his tea in two gulps. “Does anyone recall seeing her before?”

The others all shook their heads. “It may not be a bad idea to continue on our planned path,” said Ilfirindil. “Both the market and the academy are big, with lots to do and many places to go. Even if we do not see her, perhaps we could describe her to others. Erulírë and Fëanáro, did either of you get a good look at her?”

“She had brown hair,” said Erulírë with confidence.

“I mean, a little? She had hair that was brown, but not like dark brown or light brown. More like, red-brown. And she had freckles over her nose, but not on her cheeks. She had a metal box she kept her supplies in, and her paper was tinted a little darker than mine was, and she had sepia ink instead of black. And her kimono was green and white, and the green was darker than her eyes, which were green, too. She also has long fingers, with calluses on them. Other than that, not much.” Fëanáro blushed, and bowed his head to nibble at his rice ball.

“Hmm. Well, we have to go with what we have,” said Ilfirindil.

Meanwhile, down at the end of the table, her uncle hid his smirk behind his cup of tea. “I do hope that is enough information for you to find her,” he said. “The best of luck to you all.”

-

The sign outside of the Istanómë Ingolë proudly proclaimed its existence, and beside it was a tall board with a list of the resident scholars and the rooms where they would be found. Unlike the House of Rúmil, where the main room was large with many people, the rooms for these scholars were their living quarters as well. Some days, a dozen or so might be attracted to come and call upon them, while at other times they might go days without a visitor. After a time, if someone spent a long time studying and had proven their academic merit, they might be granted the privilege to take up residence. The advent of writing had brought about new items--scrolls and books--and the academy also boasted a new type of place.

A library.

“Where should we go first?” asked Erulírë.

“We could peek into all of the rooms to see if we find that girl we are looking for,” suggested Fëanáro. “If we still want to try to do that,” he added quickly.

“Good idea,” Ilfirindil said. 

The group entered the academy building and began their trek around the first floor. They peeked in on a discussion about the perceived medicinal properties of various plants, and attended a workshop on different techniques for sewing books and making paper. Up on the second floor, they visited a poet who wrote a few verses for them and then had them create some of their own, and a musician who was developing a doubleharp to be played with one hand on each set of strings. 

The second floor also had a porch that spanned two sides of the building and was used for some music and art. Today, it was being used by a painter who encouraged the children to join the in-progress open studio. They used watercolors to paint images of the landscape that were visible from the height. When the breeze started causing Fëanáro trouble with his hair, Ilfirindil fixed it by piling half of it up in a bun and securing it with paintbrushes.

The third floor was half vacant, but allowed them time with a young scholar who was writing all of the histories of the Valar. He quizzed them on the names of the holy ones, then gave them each a piece of seaweed candy before they left. The fourth and fifth floors were still uninhabited, which meant there was little reason to explore them.

“No sign of her anywhere,” Erulírë said when they finished and arrived back on the first floor. “Should we go to the market?”

“We still have one place left to go.” Hanacórë pointed to a door which would lead them into the basement.

“Do we really want to bother him, though?” asked Ilfirindil as the others were already on the stairway down.

“You can wait for us outside,” offered Fëanáro.

Ilfirindil tapped her foot a few times, and then followed the others downstairs. At the bottom, there was a wooden sign with the word parmassë painted upon it. The edges of the room were all lined with shelves. Most of them were empty, but in one corner, there was a collection started of books and scrolls. 

“Good day to you, parmasson!” greeted Erulírë.

The slightly unkempt elf who was busily making several copies of the same text looked up. Each of his hands had been employed not only with its own quill, he had been carefully watching several other stacks of papers on the large desk where he worked, for there was a contraption on it which allowed each quill to be attached to these starter quills, so that it was if he was himself a spider with eight separate arms, each writing at the same time. “Visitors! Good day to you all!” Very slowly, he removed himself from his work and came to bow to them as they returned the gesture. He was barely old enough to be considered an adult, and they had at times encountered him early on in their educational adventures. “What brings you to the Library of Valinor?”

“We were looking for someone,” said Erulírë.

“No one has been here for days,” the librarian said as he scratched behind a mostly unraveled braid. “You might try upstairs. Many people come through there.” 

“It looks like you added to your collection,” said Hanacórë before anyone could tell the librarian he was their last resort. “How many books do you have now?”

“Of individual titles, I currently have one hundred and forty-four times three, plus another eleven,” said the librarian proudly. “Some of the newer ones are rather long. I had an idea with them,” he said excitedly as he took them to the shelves and showed off his work. “Since not many people want to come into a dark basement to read an entire book, what if I had a system that let people take them home to read them, and then bring them back.”

“How would you make sure they come back?” asked Erulírë.

The librarian went back to the work area, only this time he opened the drawer of a different desk and pulled out a stack of thin wooden boards. “I painted the names of the books on these. When someone takes one home, I would put their name on the board. Then I would keep them aside to know that those books are not here. When they come back, I would paint over the name so that I can use this again.”

“What would you do if someone keeps the book, though? Or loses it?” questioned Hanacórë.

The librarian clutched the small pile of boards to his chest. “Do you really think someone would do that? Oh, I would not want to lose any of the books I have collected,” he said.

Fëanáro pointed to the writing device. “What if you kept two copies of each book--one for people to borrow, and one that stays here to read. Then, if the one you lend never comes back, you have a second copy and you can recopy it.”

“You are a genius!” The librarian deposited the wooden boards back into the desk. “I will have to make a second copy of most of the books I already have, but it will be worth it! Thank you!”

Fëanáro bowed. “You are very welcome. Might I ask a question of you before we depart?”

“Of course! Please. Ask anything,” said the librarian.

Fëanáro looked again at the writing machine. “How easy is it to use that? I mean, for writing Sarati? Do you find it easy to copy the books that way?”

The librarian sat back down at his desk and looked at the work before him. “I...will tell you that writing mirrored Sarati is tedious,” he settled on.

“Are a lot of the books in mirrored Sarati?” asked Fëanáro.

“Everyone wants their books written in it. If it is going to be bound and read by others, they want it to be as pretty as possible. Mirrored and illuminated, and all of that takes twice the time. Even writing it typically takes patience. I tried some shortcuts in blending letters into each other to save a little time, but it confused readers so I stopped.”

“Do you still have any like that?” asked Fëanáro. The librarian nodded. “May I see?” he inquired.

The librarian went back to the second desk and took a stack of pages from a drawer. “Here you are. I meant to get rid of them, but I always felt there was some merit to the idea.” He watched as Fëanáro looked them over. “Do you have any ideas about that as well?”

“Perhaps. I think it will take longer than figuring out your problem in letting people borrow books, though.” Fëanáro handed the pages back. “It does give me something to think about.”

Erulírë’s stomach grumbled, and the librarian laughed and began to shoo them out. “This library is no good for keeping track of time, and I regard those noises as a need to go find your lunches. I do thank you all for your visit--it cheers the place up to see people in the library!”

“Good day to you! We will come again soon,” offered Hanacórë. 

When they were all outside again and on their way to the market, they began to voice their opinions. “I think the librarian is the most friendly person, next to uncle,” said Erulírë.

“I think he is very strange, and smells funny,” Ilfirindil said.

“I think he has the best job in the world,” voiced Hanacórë.

Ilfirindil hurried her steps to catch up to Fëanáro, who was ahead of them by a good many paces. “What do you think of him?”

“Hmm? Oh, he seems nice.” Fëanáro began to walk a little faster.

“Nice? He lives in a basement with a collection of books and a machine that makes him write like a spider. I do not think he comes up often to bathe or...anything.” Ilfirindil hoisted her pack a little higher and looked over her shoulder to see her sister and Hanacórë falling further behind. “You must be really hungry to walk so fast!”

“Right,” agreed Fëanáro.

Ilfirindil narrowed her eyes. “Are you hurrying because you want to see if that girl is there?”

Fëanáro kept his gaze straight ahead. “If she is there for lunch, we need to be quick, because midday will be over soon.” Currently, the light of the two trees was mingled, but at this time of day, the golden light was beginning to allow the silver light to take over. 

“You want to find her because you think she’s cute,” accused Ilfirindil suddenly.

“You sister is hungry,” Fëanáro said.

“You are blushing.”

“I am not. I am just flustered from walking so fast.” Fëanáro looked over his shoulder now, and seeing the others were still spaced behind, he whispered, “She was not cute. She was independent and...and...resolute.”

“Fine. Independent and resolute is your interpretation of cute. It is why you are nearly running to the market.”

Fëanáro huffed and was about to dispute this further when he suddenly looked at Ilfirindil and his eyes widened. “You think the librarian is cute,” he accused. “You never say rude things about anyone, but every time we talk about him, you avoid him, and then you say mean things. Sure, he spends a lot of time with his books, but he probably does bathe more frequently, and the smell is probably the basement and not him. You like him.”

Now Ilfirindil was blushing. “Fine. Now you admit about that girl.”

“Fine.” Fëanáro looked over his shoulder. “But you swear not to say anything about this to them.”

“Fine. Pinky swear.” The two of them paused to hook little fingers and shake on it. “Alright. We better hurry up and get to the market to see if we can find her.”

-

There were many markets in Tirion, but everyone had their favorites, and for the group of young adventurers, it was the open air market where Hwindë Street ended. There was a main pathway with large tents and food stalls, and two smaller rows for merchants with less wares running parallel behind the main thoroughfare. Although it was late for lunch, there were still some vendors steaming fish and vegetables, or tempting shoppers with delicacies displayed on decorated tables. 

“Sushi!” cried out Erulírë when she and Hanacórë caught up to Fëanáro and Ilfirindil. There was a particular stand that they were all fond of, and the woman who ran it was beckoning to them. She looked about ready to close for the afternoon, and only too happily wrapped up the remaining rolls for them to take along. All of the children bowed to the chef, and Fëanáro dropped a jewel in her hand, though it was practically unnecessary at the market where few thought to ask for any exchange or payment from younglings, and ran to catch up with the rest of his party, who were searching for a table or bench near the river that caused the road to abruptly end. 

“We should keep looking out for that girl,” suggested Ilfirindil. “At least, with so many vendors leaving for the day, it will make it easy to spot her.”

“Or, we might have missed her, if she came this way at all,” said Hanacórë.

“What if we go searching near the crafting halls?” asked Fëanáro. “I know we were going to sit in the gallery, but we could go to Mahtan’s forge instead, and that would let us look around another place where she might be.”

“I thought your mother said you had to be back in time for supper. I know you,” warned Ilfirindil. “If we go up to see Mahtan, you will get in the thick of it, and either miss being home on time, or you will show up dirty!”

“She is right,” Hanacórë said. “And I did promise I would get you home on time.”

Fëanáro unwrapped one of the pieces of sushi. It was as big as his hand, with a prawn split over the top. He poked at it before he pulled the seafood off and ate that first. “She had a metal box with her. It looked really nice. I bet it had to come from someone who does a lot of metalwork.”

“Maybe we can look there tomorrow,” Ilfirindil said.

They ate, watched people coming and going from the market, and contemplated their plans for the next day. “I wish we had found her,” said Erulírë. “There is enough food left for someone else, and I am full.”

“So am I,” said Ilfirindil. She looked at the boys, but both of them shook their heads. “I suppose I can take these home for uncle,” she said as she opened her pack and attempted to make room. Suddenly, she froze, and then started to empty the contents of her bag onto the table. “Oh no...where did I...Erulírë, do you have my jewel pouch?”

“No. I saw you put it down on the shelf in the library when you were looking at the books,” she said helpfully.

Ilfirindil groaned. “Oh, no! I must have left it there!” She looked at the others. “We have to go back.”

“We would not have time,” warned Hanacórë. “Fëanáro will be late.”

“We could go,” said Erulírë. “It would be on the way home for us anyway. I know! We can bring this food to the librarian! He looks awfully thin. I bet he forgets to eat a lot.”

Ilfirindil ducked her head down to search the empty pack. “I mean. Sure. I suppose we could do that.”

“We need to return to the palace,” said Hanacórë. He looked sideways at Fëanáro. “We could all meet tomorrow at Mahtan’s forge.”

This seemed to appease Fëanáro. The sisters said their goodbyes, and after stuffing everything back into her pack, Ilfirindil headed off with Erulírë skipping behind.

“Do you still want to go to the gallery, or do you want to relax before supper?” asked Hanacórë as he and Fëanáro walked back to the palace. 

Fëanáro shrugged. “What do you want to do?”

“To be honest? I want a nap,” Hanacórë admitted. His next statement was interrupted by a yawn. 

“The gallery is kind of boring, anyhow,” said Fëanáro. The return was quiet, with Hanacórë saying no more than apologies after his yawns, and Fëanáro lost in thoughts about the girl from the penmanship lessons. When they reached the palace, the servant at the door was surprised to see them back so soon. After welcoming the prince home, he briefly turned to his son to ask of his day before returning to his post as Hanacórë made his way up the many flights of stairs that would take him to the living quarters of the servants of the house.

Fëanáro put away his supply kit and placed the pouch of jewels into a drawer for safekeeping. He then wandered a bit in the palace, from the kitchens to the dining hall, and into smaller rooms, such as the conservatory and drawing room. Everything was being readied for a feast, and it all seemed much bigger than Fëanáro would have expected for a court dinner.

He found his way up the stairs and heard someone humming. His father would still be in the throne room, and they had no relatives visiting who would be on this level. The servants were all busy with preparations. Normally, the realization that it was Indis would make him vacate and go elsewhere, but he followed the sound until he came to the door of her sewing room. Apparently, it had been his mother’s sewing room, but he could not recall that time. He remembered it as a room no one went into, and then, after his father married Indis, it slowly became her room. 

She noticed him at the door, and her humming stopped. “Home already?” she asked. Fëanáro nodded. She set her needlework aside. “How was your day?” she asked slowly, sitting up straight in the rocking chair.

Fëanáro considered the day. “I learned a lot of little things. I think I learned the most from people who were not teaching,” he said as he thought about tea and his stop at the library. There was a long pause, and then he asked, “How was your day?”

“It was tiring but satisfying,” she answered. Another pause ensued, and then she said, “Did all of your friends go home?”

Fëanáro nodded. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“I am working on embroidery for a gown I am making.” Indis motioned that Fëanáro could enter, and so he did. She picked up the fabric she had been holding and showed Fëanáro the work. “There is no way I could ever compete with the skill of your mother, but I know enough stitches to get by.”

“Could you teach me?” he found himself asking.

Indis reached out and took hold of Fëanáro’s hand. “I would be honored to teach the craft of needlework to the son of Míriel Serindë.”

“Þerindë,” corrected Fëanáro.

“Míriel Þerindë,” said Indis, stumbling a bit on the name this time, but Fëanáro accepted this compromise and sat down on a footstool. Indis presented him with a needle and thread, and the two spent the next few hours practicing threading and basic stitches. “You are taking to it quite well,” complemented Indis.

“Thank you.” Fëanáro managed only once to stick himself in the entire afternoon, and while his stitches were slightly uneven, even he could see improvement as the impromptu lesson wrapped up. “That is a really tiny gown,” he remarked of the work Indis was doing.

Indis did not answer immediately. “Would you like to know a secret?” she finally asked.

“Mmm. It depends. I learned a lot about secrets today,” said Fëanáro. “Is it a good secret or a bad secret?”

“After tonight, I doubt it will be much of a secret.” She set down her work and bid him to follow her to another room. It was usually a guest room for visitors. She opened the door and showed him that the room was transformed. It now had a crib, cradle, and dresser, and a mobile with eagles and seabirds hanging overhead.

“Who is this for?” asked Fëanáro cautiously.

“Your sister,” said Indis, placing a hand over her belly. Until now, Fëanáro had not noticed that it was distended slightly. “I do not think I could hide it much longer, so we are announcing it tonight at the dinner. That is why your father wants you there. He wanted it to be a surprise for you there, but I think we should have told you earlier.”

Fëanáro scrutinized Indis’ belly. “Are you certain it is a sister?” he asked.

Indis nodded.

“I can allow that,” he said. “But no brothers, please.”

Indis raised her brows. “I do not know if I can promise that.”

“But you can try,” suggested Fëanáro.

“I will address it with your father,” said Indis. “There is something else he was going to talk to you about tonight, but I am going to bring it up now. I do not wish to keep secrets from you, Fëanáro. Your father is bringing a tutor onto the household staff. He wishes for you to be taught privately from now on.”

“Without my friends? No. I will not agree to that.” Fëanáro balled up his fists. “I will refuse to learn anything!”

“Shh...Fëanáro, I agree with you,” said Indis calmingly. “I told your father as much, and he has agreed that all three of them are welcome to study here with you. He just wants the best for you. This way, you always have a teacher here in the house.”

Fëanáro relaxed his fists a bit. “We can try it,” he said cautiously.

“That is all we can do. Now, we should get ready for the dinner. I am sure the guests will be arriving soon.”

“And you are sure that there is a sister in there?” Fëanáro pointed at Indis’ stomach.

Indis nodded.

Fëanáro started to walk out, but then turned back and shouted at Indis’ midsection, “You better not change your mind, little sister!” before he left the room.


	2. Valinor: 1204 YT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

Ilfirindil tapped Fëanáro’s shoulder. “Do you want to come with us to the library?”

Fëanáro picked up another rock and skipped it across the surface of the water. He shook his head. “It seems too nice a day to spend indoors. I think I might just wander the beach awhile.”

“If you change your mind, you know where we will be,” said Erulírë. She took hold of Hanacórë’s hand, and the two stepped in sync as they trudged up the sandy slope in the direction of the academy. 

A few years earlier, the hired tutor left the service of Finwe, and the children, nearing adulthood, were now loose again to find their own educational experiences. For most of them, that meant traveling anywhere and everywhere in Tirion to seek the knowledge of the masters. Erulírë and Hanacórë had developed a very close relationship, and their parents spoke of a future betrothal. Ilfirindil had continued to visit the library during walks home, and she and the librarian exchanged tokens of friendship, though she admitted to Fëanáro only that she looked forward to her majority celebration, and that she had firm plans in her mind to seek out the librarian soon after for something more than friendship. 

For Fëanáro, the new freedom was something he was constantly testing. How many days could he go without returning home before his father or Indis questioned his whereabouts? (The current answer was five.) How far could he travel before reports made it back to them about where he had been? (The answer was Alqualondë.) As he stood with another rock in his hand and considered where to wander today, he caught sight of someone nearby, and began to address who he thought it was. “Ilfirindil, maybe tomorrow. I have a headache, and--” He stopped and blinked. “Sorry. I thought--”

“No. I kind of snuck up. I just...that stone..is that...do you mind?”

Fëanáro looked at the item in his hand and then held it out. 

The young woman took it and grinned. “Alabaster. Do you mind? I know you found it first, but if you are just going to throw it out to sea…?”

“Go ahead. I gave it to you.” Fëanáro watched as she pulled a metal box from a satchel and placed the stone inside. Then, as she looked up, he saw freckles across her nose. “I know you,” he exclaimed as she put the box away.

“Sorry...I do not remember us meeting,” she said.

“The House of Rúmil. Forgive me--but did you study there? As a child...that box. I remember it. Well, also, I remember you. I think.”

“Oh...and here I had hoped that was long forgotten,” she admitted. “My father was furious! I stopped going into the center of Tirion after that.”

“That had to be horrible!” said Fëanáro. 

“Not really. My father has a forge, so I learned a lot from him, and from other crafters. I am a sculptress now,” she said proudly. 

“Ah.” Fëanáro tried to think of something else to say, lest she leave. “I was, uh, really proud of you. That you...asserted yourself. I have been working on that. Myself, that is. Being more assertive.”

The young woman laughed. “Well, uh, my parents were not. I spent the next decade taking weekly lessons on being a...fragile flower or something. When I took up sculpting, though, that helped a lot. Now I just take out my frustration on rocks,” she said. “Sorry. Nerdanel.” She bowed deeply to him.

“Fëanáro.” He bowed back to her.

“Fëanáro like the prince? You must have bold parents,” said Nerdanel.

“Right. Yes. But, Fëanáro as in...yes, that is me,” he stuttered.

“Huh.” Nerdanel spied another rock covered by some sand and grabbed it up. “I never would have expected a prince to be wandering by himself on the beach.”

“It gets boring at the palace,” he said. 

“Well, I cannot offer excitement. I am just rock hunting,” she said.

“You seemed excited about the rocks,” Fëanáro said. He pointed. “Is that another of them there?”

“Oh! Yes!” Nerdanel snatched up this one, too. “You have a good eye for rocks.” She waved an arm to the north. “I am going that way, if you want to help.”

Headache forgotten, Fëanáro kicked at the sand and unearthed several dozen more suitable rocks for Nerdanel’s collection. When her box was full, she said to him, “You are welcome to come back home with me for the evening meal.”

“Thank you. I would be honored,” said Fëanáro, giving her a slight bow.

“You will need to know that my father might try to recruit you. My father is always looking for students with keen sight, and I think you proved that today. Not as many people are interested in metalcraft anymore. Oh, but I should have asked--I suppose you already have a craft you have learned,” she said apologetically.

Fëanáro picked up his own satchel, which was filled with rocks as well, and contemplated his words. His time at the palace led to a great deal of focus on needlework, for the tutor was versed in writing, oration, and philosophy, but not very adept with crafts. He considered telling her about the embroidery he was able to master, but something from years ago reminded him of the excitement he would get from walking into Mahtan’s forge. “I am always open to learning new things,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Citations
> 
> History of Education in Japan by Jeffrey Hays  
> http://factsanddetails.com/japan/cat23/sub150/entry-2794.html#chapter-0
> 
> The Sarati of Rúmil  
> http://at.mansbjorkman.net/sarati.htm
> 
> History of Sushi (Infographic by Varinia Telleria)  
> https://www.domodaruma.com/blog/history-of-sushi-infographic-timeline
> 
> Sushi Used to be Much Larger in the Past by Brian Ashcraft  
> https://kotaku.com/sushi-used-to-be-much-larger-in-the-past-1824102179
> 
> Histography  
> https://histography.io/
> 
> A note from Zhie: Please note that this was written for TRSB, which requires that artists comment on the works written by the author, yet does not demand reciprocity that the author provide feedback or commentary to the artist in the same public forum, such as on their Deviant Art page. I would like to apologize to all artists that you are put in what I believe to be an unfair position. While comments are always appreciated, forced comments are tyrannical. I am deeply sorry to all artists who are forced to leave comments, as this should be seen as a collaborative work. When an author and illustrator work together, the illustrator is not expected to write a review for the author's work. This is turning what should be an equal collaboration into an exchange scenario, which I believe demeans the work that the artists put into their part of the collaboration.
> 
> Kalendeer, when I heard that your art was suddenly available again, I could hardly believe it. We had chatted a bit early on, and I had told you how much I enjoyed this art. When I was going through my top list with some other participants in a voice chat, I was discouraged from having this piece on my list because, in their words, I had already written this. In a way, true--but the elements were different, and the OCs definitely new. Still, I removed it from my list of selections. When I saw this come up, I immediately knew from the number which piece this was and I jumped on it, certain someone would beat me to it. 
> 
> There is such life in the eyes of these adorable characters. They have not just one story to tell, but so very many adventures. Just look at the hidden mischief in their faces! I had a lovely time with all of the inspiration you provided, and getting to explore something familiar from so many new angles was a lot of fun. This was one of the easiest pieces I have written, even with the research I spent time doing, because the subjects were so conducive to writing. The muses you offered were perfect. Your painting ability is something I aspire to, and I can appreciate the time and care you spent as a fellow painter. I really had a lot of fun, and I'm sorry our schedules didn't work out more often to get more time to collaborate further, but my fingers are crossed that we have another opportunity to do so in the future. Thank you so much for contributing this to the event.


End file.
